Sweet Seduction Page 2

  He hadn’t talked to his family since then.

  “You risked a lot to call me, but you didn’t bother to give me a ring about nearly dying? Oh, there was the drunk dial of two nights ago that brought me here, but I could have used a sober heads-up. You’re lucky I kept the same cell number all these years.”

  Shit. He’d done that? Embarrassment flashed through his system. “Fuck. I didn’t realize I’d called. I kind of lost track of the phone. I shouldn’t have called you at all.”

  “Yeah, you should have. You should have called me while you were at Ramstein. You should have called me when you got home and realized your wife was fucking big brother and they had both screwed you over. What the hell are you doing in this rat hole?”

  He’d forgotten that Adam could play the fatherly role from time to time. “I can’t afford anything else. Dad cut me off and my Army severance isn’t much. Elise stayed married to me long enough to take half the insurance settlement I got on my leg.” TSGLI paid out a hundred grand for traumatic injuries. Elise had taken fifty thousand and then also shared her maxed out credit card bills with him. She was a giver.

  “How are you getting to rehab?”

  “Bus.” He was still wobbly on the damn prosthetic. He’d fallen more than once and the humiliation always burned through him.

  Adam sighed. “You’re coming home with me. What of this crap do I need to pack? And where’s your damn leg? Shouldn’t it be close to you?”

  His brother got up and started walking around the apartment, poking into everything. Macon was ashamed of how messy he’d let the place get. He’d been taught to be neat, that everything had a place. “Adam, I can’t go with you.”

  Adam turned. “Why not?”

  He couldn’t think of a single reason why. Not one. He hated his life. He didn’t have a family anymore.

  He could have a fresh start. Maybe in Dallas he wouldn’t sit around and drink all day. Maybe if he wasn’t constantly reminded of everything he’d lost, he could build something new. Did he even want that?

  Adam came to stand in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was the first time he’d been connected to his brother in years. “That old life is gone, Macon. Unless you want to try to win her back…”

  “Not in a million years. I can’t stand the thought of that woman. Or Alan. Or…god, I hate them all, Adam. I fucking hate them all. It eats me up inside until I don’t want to do anything but remember how much I hate them.”

  “Then come to Dallas and we’ll start over. I have a son. I promise you can’t be around him and keep all that hate in your gut. You can stay in the guesthouse if you like. It’s really just a house. When we moved we bought two lots and kept one of the old houses while we built the dream house. Now we keep it for family. Jake’s got a massive family and it’s really easier to not share a house with all of them. You can stay there long term and I’ll find a physical therapist in the neighborhood.”

  Adam had a baby? A son? He had a nephew? He couldn’t let his nephew see him like this. He had to clean up. He had to sober up. Damn. He did have a family. Adam was offering him one.

  “Macon?”

  Macon focused again. “Why? Why would you help me?”

  Adam sighed and leaned forward. “Because you’re my brother. Because I learned a long time ago that life is way too short to hold grudges or to waste it on hating things we can’t change. I would like my son to know one of his uncles. I would like to be a brother to you and I would definitely like to avoid having to bury you, and I’m fairly certain that’s where all this is heading if you don’t come with me.”

  A single moment played out in his head, the memory as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. He’d been standing in the doorway, watching his big brothers getting in the car to go away to school. He couldn’t go to school, but Alan and Adam were going to learn how to be soldiers, like their dad. They would be gone for a long time. They were going to something called boarding school.

  Just when he thought they would leave without another word, Adam had bolted back and he’d hugged Macon. “I’ll miss you.”

  They weren’t supposed to hug, but it felt right. He held on to his brother until their father broke them up and hustled Adam to the car.

  He’d been left behind, but Adam wasn’t leaving him behind this time. Despite everything that had happened, Adam was here.

  He could stay and let hate eat up his whole fucking life or he could start over.

  “My prosthetic is in the bathroom, but I might have used it to smash the mirror, so you should probably watch out for that.”

  Adam shook his head. “You’re seeing a shrink, too.”

  He would if Adam told him to. It was far past time to listen to someone who had it together. “And I don’t need to bring much.”

  Some clothes and one book. His mother’s recipe book.

  Maybe it would come in handy.

  ***

  Sarah Allyson Jones stared down at the headstones. One was fresh, the other only months old. She’d spent all the cash she had left on those two slabs of marble and concrete.

  Sunshine washed over the graves. It was a gorgeous Georgia day and that seemed like the greatest insult of all. The grass was green, forsythia in full bloom. Everywhere she looked there were peaceful plants coming to life. The cemetery was a contrast—a garden of green for the dead.

  She wanted rain. She wanted the plants to rot and the sky to fall around her.

  She wanted to go back to the woman she’d been before Ronnie’s death. No. Before her mother’s illness. Had it really been so long since she’d laughed and teased and felt like she had a future?

  “Your mother was a kind woman,” a soft voice said. When Sarah turned around she saw the preacher standing there. Reverend Alton was a nice man. She’d been going to his church since she was a teenager. “The last few months of her life were an aberration.”

  The last few months of her life had been all about pain and lies. Agony from the cancer eating her lungs and lies from the Army. Her mother had sent her only son off to fight for his country and all she’d gotten back was a pine box and lies about how he died.

  Ronnie hadn’t been her blood. Sarah had been a foster kid who won the lottery. She’d been thirteen when Carla Rowe agreed to foster her long enough to find a permanent home. A few months had turned into years, and she’d found a better home than the misery she had before.

  How could it all be gone? How could they be here? Had those years of happiness been a momentary respite? Would her life be about misery again?

  “She was angry after Ronnie died.” Somehow she felt the need to defend her foster mother. She touched the arch of the gravestone, feeling the cool of the stone beneath her palm. She prayed there was peace there for Carla and that she was with her son again.

  Sweet, goofy Ronnie, her brother. He’d been kind and smart and at times she’d had to protect him from bullies when they were in school. After high school, they’d both worked around town, trying to save money for college. Even then her mother’s health had been failing. She couldn’t leave their small town, worried something would happen to Carla Rowe. Finally, eighteen months before, Ronnie had made the decision to go into the Army. He’d been twenty-four with no real prospects in sight. It had been hard to imagine him in the Army, but then he’d come home and he’d been a soldier. He’d put on muscle and gained confidence. He’d gone in because he didn’t have the money for college and now he was dead.

  Reverend Alton put a hand on Ronnie’s stone. “He was a good son. A good man. I can’t tell you why the lord chose to call him home so soon.”

  She didn’t need platitudes. “I don’t think God did this.”

  Unfortunately, she was fairly certain it hadn’t gone down the way the Army claimed it did either. They were evasive. The reports on her brother’s death were lacking in detail and the one person who had been there wouldn’t speak to her.

  “Sarah, your mother wouldn’t want to hear the bit
terness in your voice.”

  Sarah stood up. “My mother was the one who asked me to find out what happened. It was her dying wish.”

  “You want to give up everything you have? You’ve already spent your savings on private investigators and lawyers.”

  She’d spent everything. She’d already had to sell the house to pay the bills attached to her mom’s long fight. The money the Army insurance had paid out went to the same place. She didn’t have anything left. “I have to honor her wish.”

  The reverend sighed. “No, you don’t.”

  “Seriously? A reverend is telling me to deny a woman her dying wish? That doesn’t sound very godly.”

  “God is kinder than we make him out to be, Sarah. Your mother wasn’t thinking straight. She was in pain and on drugs to manage it. She wouldn’t want you to endanger your whole future.”

  She had no future. Her chance to go to college was blown. She was almost twenty-six and she’d spent much of the last five years nursing her mother and working dead-end jobs to try to help pay the never-ending medical bills. It was the very lack of opportunity in their tiny town that had sent Ronnie into the Army. He’d sent back every bit of pay he could spare. Not that it had mattered. It was all over now and she’d thought she’d feel some semblance of relief. Instead, she was left with this aching hole that nothing could fill.

  Maybe if she found the truth, her mother could rest easier.

  “Sarah?” the reverend said. “Sarah, you’re too emotional to make a decision like this. Come back to the parish house. You can stay with us for a while. Come back and sit in the nursery and hold some of the babies. It will make you feel better. In a few months, you’ll be in a better place to make a decision about your life.”

  She’d already made her decision. The money had run out so now it was up to her to do her own investigating.

  She was going to find Macon Miles and when she did, she would find out how her brother had died. And if he had anything to do with it…well, she would take care of that, too.

  Chapter One

  Dallas, TX

  Two months later

  Macon watched the new girl. He couldn’t help himself. She was luscious. Like a chocolate soufflé. She would require very careful handling in order to bring her to fruition. One wrong move and a woman like that would fold, wilting or falling away, or simply telling him to fuck off.

  He really didn’t want her to tell him to fuck off.

  Ally. Allyson Jones. She had dark hair and a curvy figure that filled out her black slacks and white dress shirt in a way no one else on the waitstaff managed. She bent over, collecting the menus. That was the singular juiciest backside he’d ever seen. It was fucking spectacular, and he could feel his cock hardening.

  It was not helpful to his current work situation, but he still couldn’t force his eyes to move. It was like they were laser focused on that lush ass.

  He moved the pastry blender over and over, forcing the ingredients to mix into something new. Butter, flour, sugar, shortening, salt, and ice water. His perfect piecrust. Simple and yet so complex since he’d learned it required something beyond merely following the recipe. There was a harmony required most people never figured out, a certain Zen that came with giving over to the dish, allowing it to be what it would.

  “Don’t let that sit too long.” Timothy Gage looked down his patrician nose at the bowl. “We have reservations for a hundred tonight. If that crust isn’t perfect, I’ll see you go back to washing dishes.”

  Macon took a deep breath and forced himself not to correct his obnoxiously pretentious boss. He’d never washed dishes. When he’d been hired at Top, he’d been brought in as a garde-manger, prepping salads and helping with small plates. That had lasted two weeks. Then one day the chef’s brother had walked in. Ian Taggart was a massive slab of muscle with a taste for lemons. Timothy didn’t do requests. He was an artiste, or at least that’s what he called himself. He was mostly an asshole who took himself way too seriously. Sean Taggart, the man who owned Top, had tried to talk his brother into being reasonable. Macon had quickly made a lemon pudding.

  He’d moved from salads to assistant pastry chef that day, and he was also Big Tag’s hookup. The big guy’s wife had been pregnant at the time and mad about coconut. He’d made coconut cookies, cream pies, and cakes for the lovely Charlotte.

  It was good to be needed. It was good to make something that made someone else happy.

  “That is one hot piece of ass.” Timothy leaned against the wall, his eyes on Ally.

  There were times he really didn’t like the man. All the time, really. He was full of himself, but he was also trained by some super-fancy school in Paris. Sean had introduced him as a big deal and explained that Macon could learn a lot from him. So far he’d really learned that Timothy liked to duck work and take all the credit, and he drank on the job.

  Ally looked up and her dark eyes caught on his. He hoped he wasn’t staring like a crazy stalker guy, but it was hard to look away. She smiled and joked and he could still feel the aura of loss that surrounded her. He wanted to know what made her seem so sad at times, like there was a wall between her and the world. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need that wall. It was a stupid idea. He couldn’t take care of himself much less anyone else, so he’d kept his distance.

  Still, since the moment she’d walked through the doors, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

  She gathered the menus close to her chest as she started for the door. She stopped in front of the pastry station. The barest hint of a smile crossed her full lips. “What’s on for tonight?”

  Tim stepped up. “Citrus tarts and a mango sorbet. But if you like I could whip up something chocolate for you. I know the staff tends to have a limited palate. I’ll fix that right up for you, sweetheart.”

  Ally frowned and looked back at Macon. “Well, it looks good anyway. See you later.”

  Macon nodded her way and then turned to Timothy. “Is there a reason you insulted her?”

  Timothy waved him off. “Like she knows what a palate is. Had I really known who I would be working with here, I would have stayed in Europe.” He took a sip of coffee that Macon knew was drowned in whiskey. “The whole place is full of washed-up idiots. Taggart has too soft a heart to really make it in this business. He’s a brilliant chef. He simply doesn’t have a proper staff around him. It’s one thing to use his Army buddies to wash dishes. It’s another to pretend they can actually cook.”

  Yes, this was what he got to listen to. It was so much better when Timothy worked on what he considered proper desserts and he left Macon alone to prepare the secondary. Unfortunately for tonight, the mango sorbet was already done, so he got to listen to Timothy’s rants.

  He sucked it down. He wasn’t about to fuck up this job. He owed Adam too much. Adam had introduced him to Sean. Adam had gotten him this job. He couldn’t lose his temper.

  He went back to his crust.

  Timothy drained his mug and slapped Macon on the shoulder. “You finish that up. I’m going to go deal with a problem I’m having.”

  He stepped out and Macon could breathe again. He let the sounds of the kitchen wash over him. He loved it here. With the singular exception of Timothy, he got along with everyone. Sean Taggart liked to hire vets. Chef Taggart was a former Green Beret and his kitchen staff came from all the arms of service. The sous-chef was a former SEAL, the saucier a former Air Force pilot. The line chefs were all Marines. Even the sommelier had spent time in the Coast Guard. Only Timothy and a few of the servers were civilians.

  He fit in here. He wasn’t the only scarred fuck-up.

  His life had taken on a pleasing rhythm. Wake up, exercise with his brother and Jake, lunch with his sister-in-law, who asked an insane amount of questions, work, and sleep. He had PT three days a week and saw the shrink twice. He was getting comfortable telling Kai Ferguson things he’d never told another person.

  The only problem was Kai thought he was hold
ing back and he was. There was one thing he couldn’t tell anyone. Not ever. He would take it to his grave.

  He shoved the thoughts aside and concentrated on the individual crusts.

  “You coming out with us tonight?” Eric Vail’s white apron was still pristine at this point in prep. The sous-chef was a lean man of roughly forty, with a jagged scar running from above his right eye to his jawline. He also was the best freaking chef short of the big boss. Eric’s sea bass rocked Macon’s world.

  Macon had decided that men who’d been forced to live on MREs for most of their life took food seriously.

  “I’m going to close tonight.” He liked closing on Sundays. Yes, it took longer because they weren’t open on Mondays, so he ended up helping Sean with the accounting. He liked it because he was learning how to run a business. Once he’d offered to help with the books, Sean had been thrilled to teach him. He helped with accounting and payroll. Sean’s wife, Grace, had spent hours teaching him how to use the accounting software. He loved baking, but he also loved the sense that he had a hand in the working of the business.

  Eric shook his head. “You are crazy, my brother. I’ll drink some tequila for you. Or maybe not since I saw that you’re closing with the lovely Ally. It has not escaped my notice that you watch her.”

  “I’m not stalking her or anything.” Not really. He just liked the way she moved when she didn’t think anyone was watching. After close, they would turn on some music and she’d move to it, her feet finding a rhythm as she mouthed the words to the songs she knew.

  Eric’s emerald green eyes rolled. “I didn’t say that. I said you obviously have a thing for her. I think you should ask her out.”

  He wasn’t so sure about that. “I’m not in a place to take care of a girlfriend.”

  Eric frowned and leaned in. “If you give a crap about that girl, maybe you should rethink your position.”